


What I've Known

by reapertownusa



Series: Disciplinary Discrepancy [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Corporal Punishment, Emotional Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:00:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/651997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's plan to get Sam what he wants for Christmas goes to hell when John finds out and takes him for a drive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I've Known

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Severe parental spanking, child abuse, non-explicit underage prostitution - Dean is 16
> 
> Author's Notes: This is a wishlist_fic prompt fill for purple_carpets, who requested a prequel to Disciplinary Discrepancy (http://archiveofourown.org/works/651953) - _I'd love it if you could make it, you know...Christmassy. Like...maybe it's winter and Dean is close to freezing out there with the snow falling down on his bare ass, and...maybe Last Christmas or some equally lame holiday song plays on the radio._
> 
> This story can be read as a standalone, but probably makes more sense if you know that it takes place in a 'verse where John spanked Dean - from the age of nine until twenty-six - generally with severe strappings. He did it away from Sam using the euphemism of 'going for a drive'. John never physically disciplined Sam and Sam never knew that John had ever touched Dean. Dean convinces himself that he needs the whippings and develops a Stockholm Syndrome of sorts. Now you're caught up.

_Cheap whores are a dime a dozen._

Dean’s breath had caught in his throat when Neil, the jerk Dad was working with, had said those words. The fellow hunter had sent Dean a look behind Dad’s back. Just thinking about that taunting smirk churned his stomach.

He’d been sure that moment would be his last. Or at least that he’d wish it was.

But that moment had passed and moved on to the next in which Dad had told Neil to shut his goddamn mouth and not talk like that around his sons. Somehow, Dean had managed not to laugh.

If Dad had any idea, Dean wouldn’t have to worry about being killed. He’d pull the damn trigger himself.

Dean should have been relieved when the conversation had moved back to hunting, but that fluttering of nerves hadn’t ease. It was sill there days later and only grew stronger as he knelt down beside the rank dumpster in the empty lot behind the Short Stop mini mart.

A chill ran down his spine as his knees sunk into the dirty snow that had been plowed to the side of the parking lot. His worn jeans didn’t provide any more protection from the cold than his grungy windbreaker that was too small to zip up. A ghoul had shredded his winter jacket and this was the best he’d so far managed to come up with.

His tongue darted out to moisten his frosted lips. This poor bastard was going to freeze his balls off. Dean risked a glance up at the man who loomed over him.

The guy was tall like Neil, but stockier like Dad. At least body size didn’t necessarily translate to other portions of the anatomy. He knew for a fact that Neil had a scrawny little dick.

His throat went dry. He swallowed everything down and forced his cold-numbed fingers to search for the man’s zipper pull.

“You charging by the hour, bitch?” The man had an impatient twitch in his fingers and growled when Dean shook head. “Stupid, useless slut.”

Dean lowered his eyes as the truth of the words settled in. A sharp pain radiated through his head when the man boxed his ear. Dean shot a hand out to catch himself as he was thrown off balance and brought the other up to guard his throbbing head.

The hand buried in the snow curled into a fist. He could have this guy on his ass in a second, dead in ten, but he choked down his pride and straightened back up on his knees, head bowed.

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled.

He needed the money bad enough to shut up and suck it, but the guy was an idiot. Dean sure wouldn’t want to piss somebody off right before he planned on shoving his dick in their mouth. The thought flushed his already cold-reddened cheeks.

Neil was right. He was a cheap whore.

Dad would never get down on his knees, not for anyone. Usually Dean wouldn’t either. He just made due on the money Dad left him and it was enough. But this was different. This was Christmas.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and this last twenty-five bucks would leave him with enough to sneak to the store tomorrow and buy Sam that stupid microscope. Dad had said they weren’t wasting money on toys and ordered Sam to drop it, but Sam hadn’t. He’d spent the next three months whittling away at Dean’s resolve.

Dean would’ve been fine with taking the punishment for spending their emergency reserves. It’d be worth it to see Sam’s face on Christmas morning and to prove to his little brother that things didn’t totally suck ass. But while he could handle the drive he’d deserve for disobeying a direct order, he couldn’t take Dad’s disappointment or the hurt in Sam’s eyes when Dad trashed his present.

Stealing it was the next logical conclusion. He’d had the thing out of the box, stowed beneath his jacket with all the accessories stuffed in his pockets. He’d nearly been out the shop’s backdoor before the store manager had grabbed him. He’d weaseled his way out of the police being called with a sappy crap story, but it hadn’t earned his way into the manager’s heart enough to get away with the prize.

Sad Puppy dog eyes were Sam’s gig and Dean couldn’t pull off cute kid anymore. People looked at him different and what they wanted had changed.

So here he was pulling some sleazy bastard’s rock-hard dick out of his pants. It was gross and it made him feel like shit, but it was worth it. It wasn’t like it was the worst thing he’d ever let a man do to him and it didn’t matter as long as it got the job done.

The guy clutched Dean’s head as he thrust. Hard. Dean tried to pull back and the grip only tightened even as he gagged. For a second, he choked it down, took the pain and gave the man the benefit of the doubt. The guy could only get off by paying the likes of him. The man had to be desperate.

Then he heard the whisper, “Do you really think the world needs filthy cock sluts like you?”

The tone chilled Dean colder than the snow-packed cement that rubbed his exposed knees raw. He was already getting to his feet when the man’s hands left his head to grab his throat. The icy fingers dug into his neck.

Dean plowed forward, ramming his head into the man’s gut and knocking him back against the wall. It was enough for the grip to loosen and let Dean stand. He slid over the icy snow until he got his footing and braced for a fight.

“Get down!”

The sharp order came from behind him and was so instinctually familiar that Dean obeyed without question, dropping down into the snow at the man’s feet. Two guns fired and a body hit the ground beside him, blood staining the snow.

Dean laid there on his stomach, chest heaving. He was too scared to move. It wasn’t the attack or the body of whatever the thing had been next to him. It was knowing that his father was crossing the parking lot towards him.

Dad had said he was out of town, but they must have tracked the thing back here and then he realized all of Neil’s gibberish about whores hadn’t just been about him. Fuck. He was so stupid.

His frozen hands trembled and his breath caught in his chest. He barely noticed the chill seeping past his wet flannel. He only heard the slosh of the boots through the slush. Two sets of foot steps. Neil was with him.

“Get out of here, kid!”

Dean glanced around to see who Dad was shouting at. There was no else here. Slowly he realized that Dad hadn’t actually seen him yet and knew he wouldn’t recognize the jacket.

Adrenaline pulsed through his blood as he scrambled to his feet, intentionally keeping his back to Dad. Neil and Dad were talking and Dean took the opening. He got six feet before he was grabbed by the scruff of his windbreaker and spun around.

The horrified disbelief on Dad’s face was enough to paralyze him. His shoulders sagged and he did his damnedest to try to disappear in front of his father’s disapproving eyes.

Dean kept his gaze fixed on his scuffed boots, running through his mind a million things he could say. Every one of them was wrong.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dean?”

Dean couldn’t force an answer to come and winced as he was slammed back against the dumpster. Dad grabbed a fistful of his jacket and pulled him forward again, giving him a shake.

He didn’t fight. He didn’t even want Dad to let go.

Dean felt as if he was going to pass out by the time Dad gave a weary sigh. He released his grip on Dean, shoving him aside before turning away.

Silently, Dean screamed for him to turn back around. He wanted to hear that it was okay, even knowing it wasn’t. Hell, he’d settle for Dad tearing him a new one.

Dad’s back was still to him when he spoke, “The car’s around the corner. Get in it. We’re going for a drive.”

The words that usually made him sick, this time brought relief so heavy his knees nearly gave out. Dad wasn’t leaving him.

Dean hustled down the street in a haze. It was the middle of the night and all the shops were closed, but a few had left their Christmas lights on to brighten the cheap snowflake cutouts and fake snow in the display windows.

Once he made it around the corner, Dean rested back against a frozen streetlight pole that was wound with red and white ribbon with a giant bow on top that had been tattered by the winds. He shoved his hands into his armpits to try to get the blood circulating back to them, but the shirts beneath his jacket were too wet with melted snow to warm him.

Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying despite the silent streets and straining his ears, but Dad and Neil were talking again and Dad sounded pissed as hell. If he wanted to live, Neil wouldn’t tell Dad what they’d done, but there were a lot of other things the bastard could say.

Not that any words could make this worse than it already was. He was a dirty cock slut and now Dad knew it. He slid down the pole until he was crouched beside it, spitting the foul taste from his mouth.

Dean flinched when he heard the hard impact of flesh against flesh. There was no return hit, just the thud of someone going down in the snow. Dean didn’t have to wonder who.

His head shot up as footsteps approached. He scrambled back to his feet, standing at attention in the falling snow as Dad walked past him, wiping blood from his hands. Dad climbed into the car, slamming the door without even glancing towards him.

Dean stood beside the Impala, shaking and numb. He might have stood out there all night if he wasn’t afraid that Dad would drive away without him.

When he got in, the heater was on, but it didn’t warm him. He didn’t catch the tune on the radio before Dad hit the dashboard to shut it off.

He sat stiffly in his seat while Dad’s fingers flexed around the steering wheel tightening then releasing in time with his ragged breaths. Dean’s vision was already blurring by the time Dad held a hand out to him.

“Give it to me,” Dad said.

Dean stared down at the outstretched hand. He knew what Dad wanted and knew he deserved it, needed it. He just couldn’t believe that Dad planned to whip him here when the police were probably already on the way.

“Now, Dean. Whatever cash you made pulling that stupid stunt. Give it to me.”

Dean sank further into his seat. It was bad enough that he’d done what he had, and worse that Dad had found out, but he’d still been clinging to the hope that somehow he would still manage to pull off Christmas for Sam.

“But I-”

“I will tan your ass right here on main street, so help me God, Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean hadn’t believed it before, but Dad’s lethal tone had him convinced now. He pulled the newest twenty-five bucks from his pocket. His fist tightened around the crumpled bills before he dropped them into his father’s waiting hand without meeting his eyes.

“If I find another cent on you, you’ve got a week’s worth of drives ahead of you.”

Dean clenched his jaw and swiped his cheeks dry. It was little wonder why Dad was through with him. He couldn’t even hold it together and own up to his crap. Dean released a shaky sigh and dug into his back pocket to pull out the rest.

His gaze fixed on the snowflakes piling up on the windshield as Dad counted the cash. He’d told Sam that they’d go sledding at the lake tomorrow, but he wouldn’t be up to it after tonight. Just one more way he'd be ruining Sam’s Christmas.

“This is all from that thing?” Dad asked.

Dean’s eyes remained focused ahead, trying not to hear the disgust in his father’s voice. “No, sir.”

It was over a hundred dollars that he’d earned begging for scraps on his knees. Mostly. Neil had paid extra.

Dean jumped as Dad slammed his fist against the dash. “Goddamn it, Dean! No son of mine is gonna...”

_Be a cheap whore._

The car fell into silence without the thought being spoken aloud, but Dean didn’t need to hear the words to know what Dad was thinking. He could hear it in his voice and see it in the way that Dad couldn’t even look at him.

The air was deafened by the snow that was beginning to entomb them. Dean just wanted to be gone. Not here, not anywhere.

Dad turned up the heat. Dean hadn’t realized he was shaking.

As the Impala pulled away from the curb, his gut clenched so tight it was hard to breathe. His entire focus turned to fighting back the tears that begged to fall. He wouldn’t let them. It was bad enough that Dad knew he was a cock sucker. He didn’t need to know that his son was a little bitch, too.

Dean’s cheek rested against the cold of the window, his eyes distantly gazing past the blur of Christmas lights and the building snow flurry. The windshield wipers came on and he watched them swish back and forth through the heavy, wet snowflakes that stuck to the glass.

His legs twitched anxiously as he listened to the rattle of the snow chains and rumble of the engine to try to guess when they were pulling over. They headed up the hill that overlooked the town. There were no turn offs so Dean settled back in his seat, knowing they weren’t getting out at least until they reached the top of the winding road.

It was a gradual incline, made even slower by the chains. The slow speed made what was usually a long wait feel eternal. Dean searched for anything to focus on beside the litany of fuck ups that cycled through his head.

His mind grasped the song that lay closest to the surface and replaced his list of failures with the lyrics to ‘The Unforgiven’. He hummed Metallica’s cords low in his throat so they were loud enough to cling to, but quiet enough to be lost beneath the engine noise.

At the crest of the hill, he could see over the trees to all the Christmas lights shining below. It just left Dean feeling cold knowing that in one of the dark houses, his brother laid alone thinking he’d been ditched once again.

Relief and panic bled to one as the car pulled off the road. They turned down a driveway that had a ‘For Sale’ sign posted beside the mailbox. The driveway had a thick coating of untouched snow that the Impala’s tires crunched through.

A porch light was on, but there were no cars in driveway or any sign that anyone had been there since before the snow had began to fall days earlier. The engine shut off in front of the small house that was surrounded by woods. There was no one to see or hear.

Dean remained in the passenger seat while Dad got out and looked around just to be sure. He didn’t open his door until Dad returned to pop the trunk. Dean took in a deep breath and stepped out into the still night where there was only the plop of snowflakes piling up.

The porch light cast an amber glow and the snow reflected the blue light of the moon. It was enough light to see, not that he needed to.

Dad stood watching as Dean walked back to the trunk, lifted the false bottom and reached into a side compartment. There’d been times when he’d had to find the strop in the dark and he knew by memory and feel exactly where it was.

His hand brushed over the chilled, polished handle. They never used this one when sharpening the knives. It was only for him, which left it stiff and unforgiving.

He unfurled the heavy leather with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. By now he was so numb he could barely feel it.

Dad’s hand brushed against his as he took the weight from him. Dean moved on to his belt buckle, but his fingers fumbled, too numb to unfasten the notch. He sucked in a breath as Dad was suddenly there, leaning in to unhook the belt and unbutton his pants.

Dean nodded a thank you and managed to push the denim past his knees on his own. The chill hit him immediately, sucking the heat from his bare legs. It was so fucking cold. He hesitated with his thumb looped beneath the elastic strap of his boxers.

He grunted as a sharp blow from the strop cracked over his bare thighs. Dad caught him before he tripped forward. He jerked Dean’s boxers down to his ankles and pushed him forward to bend over the Impala’s trunk.

Dean gasped at the shock of cold. He tried to jerk up and away without thinking, his body automatically fighting to escape the biting frost. Dad’s hand held him down firm until he came back to himself enough to force his bare thighs to rest against the icy steel.

The cold easily bled through his wet flannel and t-shirt as his chest lay over the trunk. His body shook as Dad kicked apart his legs as far as the tangle of boxers and jeans would allow.

Snowflakes began to pile on his arms where he folded them in front of him. He buried his face. Goddamn it he was crying again.

The frigid night had already sunk into his exposed ass by the time Dad tapped the heavy leather against it. He could barely feel it, but it was the only warning he got and he sure as hell felt it when the unforgiving strike fell across his tingling skin.

There was no warm up, just quick, hard strokes that burned worse than the night’s air. With just the first few, the wide strop had already made a stinging pass at the whole of his backside.

Dad’s hand pressed against the small of his back harder, pinning him to the slick metal. He pounded the leather over his flesh, somehow knowing where it hurt the most.

Dean didn’t count, probably couldn’t have even if he’d been ordered to. He was too busy running through everything he’d done to get himself here.

_Leaving Sammy alone._

The strop worked over the crease between his ass and upper thighs. It beat his skin hot before moving to focus on a spot a few inches higher. He pushed his ass out to take the full brunt of the hits, knowing he deserved each one.

_For disobeying Dad’s orders._

He yelped sharply, jerking up, when the leather struck too far between his legs, but forced himself to return to position before the strop fell again. Every strike sharpened the pain of the last. In the quiet of the night, he was sure everyone in the world could hear, that they all knew what he’d done.

_What he’d let Neil do to him._

The tip of the strop bit the hardest, cutting at his hip. For a moment, the night again went still. He felt Dad lean over him, inspecting the damage before walking around to the other side and starting all over again.

_For risking getting the police involved._

The Impala’s suspension creaked under the force of the impacts. Dean buried his face deeper into his arms. His shoulders trembled as the snow falling on his heated ass quickly melted, leaving the skin wet where the strop blistered over it.

_For selling himself._

His thighs were trembling. He tried to keep his feet steadied on the ground, but his muscles were clenching and jerking at each hit, ignoring his desperation to remain still. If he accidentally kicked Dad it was only going to get worse, but Dad saved him by stepping forward and using his leg to pin Dean’s as he picked up the pace.

_For almost screwing up the hunt and putting more lives in danger._

Dean bit down on his shirt when he couldn’t stop himself from crying out. Several more hits fell and he bit down harder before the night fell back to silence. There was only his hitched breaths and Dad’s pants.

He remained where he lay as Dad set the strop beside him and walked away. He heard the creak of the driver side door opening, and slamming closed a moment later.

Then Dean let go. He shook as he lay over the trunk, sobs silently wracking his body. His entire backside burned as if it had been branded. He looked to the side, staring blankly past the strop. His eyes were too wet to really see. He clenched his teeth at the pain that radiated with every movement of his twitching muscles.

The snow was building up over him, having half buried his arms already. He was tired. He nuzzled his face into the crook of his elbow. He wanted the snow to bury him.

The driver's door cracked open. Dean wasn’t sure if he’d just imagined it until he heard Dad to call to him. "Dean, get in the car."

The door closed again without waiting for a reply. Another sob slipped from his lips, but this time it was as much the relief as the pain. Dad knew. Dad knew everything and he still wanted him back in the car.

Dean grimaced as he stood stiffly. He braced on the trunk, his frozen hands hidden beneath the snow until he found the energy to stand on his own. He fumbled to lift the strop and took a step back.

With the trunk open, he put the thick leather away from where he’d have to look at it, but within easy reach for next time. A fresh set of tears swelled to his eyes because there would be a next time. He always found something to fuck up.

He wiped at his cheeks then gritted his teeth as he bent down to grab his pants. He pulled his boxer and jeans back on gingerly, gasping at the pain and the cold. They were filled with snow. He didn’t care enough to try to get it out or screw around with trying to button them.

Dean wasn’t entirely ungrateful for the numbness as he shuffled over to the passenger door, grimacing with every step. It wasn’t until he opened the door, and was hit with the wall of heat, that he realized the car was already running.

The radio was back on, filling the silence with the sickeningly cheerful melody of ‘Last Christmas’. Not that he’d admit it to anyone, but he actually liked the song, just not tonight.

He stood by the car for another verse, sniffling and using the cuff of his moist windbreaker to wipe the snot from this nose. His nose and ears tingled, feeling as if they were frozen solid.

He wasn’t all that careful as he settled into the seat. His coordination was shot and, right now, he couldn’t feel much of anything as the snow quickly turned to water in his pants, pooling around his groin. Sam was going to laugh at him for looking like he’d pissed his pants and he was going to ask where they’d been. He always did when they went for these drives.

He felt Dad’s eyes on him, but couldn’t make himself meet them. The heat was pouring through the vents. Dean was still shaking hard, his teeth chattering uncontrollably even as he curled into himself for warmth.

“Take your shirt off,” Dad said.

Dean couldn’t begin to process why he was being asked to undress when he was already frozen to the bone, but didn’t think to question the order. He automatically shrugged out of the small jacket then tried and failed to undo the buttons on the flannel. He tensed when Dad gave an agitated sigh.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

He tried harder, desperately willing his fingers to work. He jumped when Dad grabbed his hand.

“Hey, you’re fine,” Dad said as he cupped Dean’s hands in his. “Damn it, Dean, you’re freezing. Where the hell’s your coat?”

Dean raised his brow, finally looking up at Dad and trying to figure out if it was a trick question. Dad had been there when the ghoul had torn into it, into him. Dad had thrown the coat out then and taken him for a drive after the wounds had healed over.

“Ghoul trashed it,” Dean replied carefully.

“That was three weeks ago. Where’s your new one?”

Dean shook his head. “You said we’d get a new one later.”

Dad looked like he wanted to argue, but Dean didn’t care. He was too tired to fight and would agree to anything so long as Dad didn’t let go of him.

“Where’d that thing come from?” Dad asked with a nod towards the windbreaker that was wadded up on the floor between them.

Dean swallowed. The pain in his ass was pushing through the numbness and he knew it could get a hell of a lot worse, but he’d rather get whipped for stealing without permission than for lying.

“I stole it.” The words spilled quickly from his mouth, his moist eyes were wide as he stared at the floor. “I’m sorry, Dad. I know you were getting around to it. I just...I was cold.”

Dad cursed beneath his breath. Dean’s stomach knotted as he watched Dad's reaction closely. But Dad just lowered his head and continued to rub his warm hands over Dean’s icy ones.

Dad must not be as warm as he seemed because he sniffled, too, before letting Dean’s hands go. Quickly, Dad undid the buttons of Dean’s flannel for him before abruptly getting out of the car.

Dean stayed seated, shrugging off the overshirt and untangling himself from his t-shirt. The skin of his chest and hands were red just from the cold. He didn’t want to think what color his ass was.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he curled towards the heater. It didn’t only warm him, but took some of the weight off the searing pain that pulsed through his backside.

His stomach was starting to hurt again as he watched Dad pacing in the snow outside of the car. He knew he needed another whipping, but maybe just a quick one with the belt. Dean shivered at the thought of going back out in the snow without a shirt on.

He wanted to put his shirt back on or take his wet pants off. He wasn’t sure which was making him colder.

Dean forgot the temperature and the pain as Dad stop pacing and stared up at the sky even as the snowflakes continued to fall around him. His lips were moving, but Dean didn’t hear the words and Dad’s cell phone was on the seat beside him.

Dean looked away as Dad glanced back towards the car. A whimper slipped from his throat as Dad walked to the back and unlocked the trunk. He tucked his head to his chest, preparing himself for going back out into the cold night for another round.

When Dad opened the door, he wasn’t carrying the strop. He was clutching their emergency blanket. Dean gave him a questioning look as Dad climbed back in beside him. He unfurled the blanket and wrapped it around him. Dad sighed and pushed him back in the seat.

“You know the rules, Dean. Keep your ass planted.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean bit his lip, trying to smother the moan as he rested his weight back on the beaten flesh. Even with the pain, he still didn’t want to be anywhere but here as Dad squeezed his shoulder.

It was okay. He was okay.

He watched distantly as Dad reached beneath his seat and pulled out a whiskey bottle. It could be bad or good depending on how much he decided to drink.

Dean wished he could drown himself in that crap, but he was still five years short of the legal limit. Dad had promised to blister his ass something fierce if he got himself wasted before he at least looked old enough for a fake ID.

It wasn’t just the authorities, anyway. He couldn’t protect Sam if he was drunk. Someone who really knew how to use a gun should be sober.

He groaned as he shifted, hoping the sound was hidden beneath the horrid rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’ that poured from the speakers. His eyes squeezed closed. When he opened them, Dad was holding the bottle out to him.

Dean ran his tongue over his lips, looking questioningly between his father and the offered whiskey. When Dad nodded, Dean didn’t hesitate. His hand slipped from beneath the green army blanket and accepted the bottle for what it was.

Dad still trusted him.

Even without knowing what it tasted like, he didn’t take a hesitant sip. He set the bottle to his lips and knocked it back the same way he’d been watching Dad do for the last twelve years.

It stung his throat and made his eyes water as the warmth burned down to his empty stomach, but he took a second long shot before handing it back to Dad and hoped the haze his father was always chasing kicked in soon.

He ran a hand through his wet hair before tucking the blanket tighter and settling back further in the seat. He scooted around until he found the most tender spot and rest down on it. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes, but he fought them back.

Dad was right, he needed to feel it.

He might be a cheap whore who’d ruined his little brother’s Christmas, but he’d find a way to make it up to Sammy and Dad both. He’d keep trying so long as Dad still thought he was worth the trouble. For now, Dad wasn't only letting him stay, but he was treating him like a man, and that was the best present Dean could ever ask for.


End file.
